Straight Up (Twisted Fox #3) - Charity Ferrell Page 0,1

the law.”

“Remind me to write to the attorney general about that bullshit.”

“I have more news.” He offers me a pitying glance.

“This is all a prank, and I’m on some reality show?”

“You wish.” He snorts. “Our next stop is your little sorority house to pick up your shit since they’re evicting you.”

My lips tremble. “How can they do that? What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

When it rains, it apparently pours and kicks you out of college.

I’m throwing out humor. It’s who I am.

On the inside? I’m choking back the urge to vomit.

The urge to break down in tears.

This arrest will ruin every life plan of mine: college, law school, becoming a successful attorney.

One mistake.

All aspirations shattered.

“This is ridiculous,” I snap, tossing my bag on the floorboard.

“You broke the rules—broke the law.”

I didn’t break shit. I cried to the officers, claiming my innocence, but someone had to take the fall. That someone ended up being me. With tearful eyes, I begged Quinton to confess. He refused, and his lie resulted in my arrest. The asshole didn’t even bother to bail me out either.

“Oh, like Becky didn’t break the law, forcing us to take ecstasy during rush,” I scoff. “Or when Sam drunkenly smashed a cop car’s windows? Neither were booted.”

Kyle shakes his head. “You should’ve taken tips from Becky and Sam on how not to get kicked out then.”

I slump in my seat. “I’m fucked.”

He nods. “You’re fucked.”

Expelled.

Kicked out.

Criminal.

All for a crime I didn’t commit.

Chapter Two

Cassidy

One Month Later

One bad date destroyed my future.

Booted me from my sorority.

Granted me with a criminal record.

My present-day life, ladies and gentlemen.

Following my arrest, my world became a shitshow. My mom sobbed. My father threatened to ship me off to military school. I reminded him that wasn’t possible since I was an adult.

What was possible?

Him cutting me off.

Which was what he did after my little I’m an adult remark.

“You’re a college expellee and irresponsible,” he said after breaking the news that he’d no longer support me.

They did at least foot the attorney bill that helped drag me out of the mess Quinton had thrown me into. My punishment ended in probation and community service.

Word of advice: don’t listen to the sugary pop songs.

Bad boys are never good for you.

After collecting my belongings from the sorority house, I moved in with my older sister, Sierra, in our hometown of Blue Beech, Iowa. News travels fast in small towns, so it didn’t take long for my arrest to hit the gossip mill. Everywhere I went, I was asked about my jail stay.

“What did you do?”

“Are you a drug addict?”

“Were you, like, dealing with the Mafia?”

Like, no, Karen. I was put in a crappy situation and screwed myself.

No hot Mafia heroes here.

I decided it was time to leave my old life behind. The problem was, I was on probation, and I couldn’t legally venture too far. Sierra stepped in and found me a job. I used my savings to rent a one-bedroom apartment in Anchor Ridge, two towns over from Blue Beech. Even with the short distance, there’s a relief, walking into a coffee shop without being known as the troublesome daughter of Blue Beech’s mayor.

Now, I’m just the customer who orders a deathly amount of espresso shots in her coffee. One employee actually wished me well in the next life, claiming no one could survive that much caffeine. Taking that as a challenge, I ordered an extra shot the next day.

All of that led me to my new job at the sports bar, Twisted Fox. Maliki’s—Sierra’s boyfriend—best friends own the place, and they agreed to hire me. My first shift is tonight, so I’m dealing with a ball of nerves in my stomach the best way I know how—by drinking two vanilla lattes and cramming four mini Snickers bars into my mouth on the drive there.

I walk into the crowded bar, and Finn, the bouncer, jerks his head in greeting. Casually dressed patrons with beers in their hands yell at the display of mounted TVs—a different sport on each screen. A long wooden bar is stretched along the back, a mirrored wall behind it, throwing back the reflections of the happenings in the building.

The sweet aroma of fried bar food trails with each step I take toward the employees-only door in the back, following the directions I was given. Venturing down a short hall, I knock on Cohen’s office door.

The co-owner answers and waves me into the room. Since Cohen is Maliki’s best friend, I’ve met him a